


god's lonely man

by newandykes



Category: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2012), Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter - Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Chronological, Period Typical Attitudes, i like to call this one: Henry Suffers The Consequences Of His Actions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newandykes/pseuds/newandykes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"So you admit that you had no political motive in resurrecting the late President of the United States, and that your reasons were purely personal?"</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"I didn't say that."</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"Then explain to me, Mister Sturges, exactly how turning Abraham Lincoln benefits the Union."</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"It doesn't."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	god's lonely man

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place is a sort of melding of book and movie canon. As per the book, Henry is a member of the Union, and turns Abe; Lamon, Ann Rutledge, and the Trinity are still kicking around; and vampires are capable of harming each other. As per the movie, Adam and Vadoma control most of the Confederacy, and William Johnson is still a thing.  
> There are some other minor plot points apropos the above (i.e. Adam being the vampire present at Roanoke rather than Thomas Crowley) but hopefully everything will makes sense.

 

 

 

> _The world is a nest of absences._
> 
> _Every once and a while someone comes along to fill the gaps._
> 
> **Richard Jackson, from "Misunderstood," _Out of Place: Poems_**
> 
>  
> 
> _Mister Sturges would have humans and vampires live in harmony. I ask him: would you have us house our hunting dogs inside our hen hut?_
> 
> **Abraham Lincoln, journal entry, 15/01/61**

 

 

 

**1862**

Little William Wallace is dead. While all of Washington weeps for him, all of Manhattan weeps for a body of blood lying abandoned under Oak Hill Cemetery. But it's a difficult idea to grasp - why should a city of thousands bay for the blood of one family, hundreds of miles away? The scene should be set: 

Winter comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb here. The sun glitters prettily off of snow-glazed window boxes and wet cobblestones. Red-faced children play with hoops and dreidels in the street - their laughter maintains the illusion of peace. The temper of the once cheerful, bustling city has turned to hostility in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation. Not only are local immigrants and storeowners frightened of having their jobs stolen, but vampires once able to thrive off of their blood are being forced out into the open as they flee. 

Quincy Moore is one such vampire. Not a Southern vampire, and not exactly baying for blood either. But a vampire, nonetheless. Thin and middle-aged, and quite pleasant looking when his fangs aren't descended. Chief of goings-on here in New York. A Secretary of State to an office that doesn't exist.  

Quincy enjoys hosting little get togethers at his 'family mansion,' where people like to point out the striking similarity he bears to the paintings of his forbearers and, 'Oh my, Mister Moore, what black eyes you have -!' That is - when he invites  _people._

Tonight, there are only vampires, esteemed in the worlds of art and music but merely... good company in Quincy's. As he walks around the room he surveys them quietly, trying to gauge just how much this Proclamation has effected them. The elders appear unconcerned, the younger lithe and angry and bouncing upon their feet. Quincy is not sure where this leaves him. The women, at least, are unconcerned, because, "Would you look at that! Clara's spilt some blood on her frock!" - but Quincy suspects they know more than they let on.  

And here is little Henry Sturges himself, with his books and his foot-to-foot shuffling, who Quincy had only really invited to keep up appearances with the Union. The man has a harem of vampire hunters, it is said, and even if they're only killing  _Southerners_ , nobody wants to sit down with the hangman over dinner. Besides, the man is _miserable_. Quincy nearly goes to wipe his hand on his coat after slapping him on the back, as if some of his sadness might rub off on him. 

"Stiff a lip, Henry," he says, careful to keep his face blank so as not to attract the attention of the others. 

Henry splutters, "I'm fine, Quincy," before downing what must be is fifth glass of wine for the evening. He glares out at the room. "Disgusting company you keep."

"Yes, they are a rather sordid bunch, aren't they? I suppose it's all that immigrant blood in their veins."  

" _You_ seem to have done very well for yourself." 

"Oh, I adapt. But this lot, they're done for." He smiles at Henry like a split seam. "I hope you don't think me terrible for associating with them." 

The younger vampire makes a vague gesture with his glass. "At least you try. This lot would gladly feed on slaves like Adam does if they were allowed the privilege."

"Ahh yes. Henry Sturges: friend of prostitutes and gaolers alike. I'm surprised you haven't gone a little funny in the head yourself. Criminal blood is said to be worse than immigrants', I hear."

He laughs. Henry obviously doesn't find it very amusing. He frowns. He shifts from one foot to the other. Quincy feels a rush of sympathy for him.

"How... _is_ everything down your end?" 

"The city is reeling."  _  
_

"And your dear Mister President?"

He sees Henry swallow almost imperceptibly.  

"Reeling."  

 

 

 

In the three years following Willie's death, he limits himself in his visits to the White House. At first, Lamon is unrelenting in his loyalty to Abe. "There are to be no vampires past this point, Confederate or otherwise," he will say, followed by a polite and guilty, "Mister Sturges, sir," and Henry will smile at him and thank him for his time. By late June, he relents. Either it is Henry's genial manner wearing him down or the way his smile falters ever so slightly at Lamon's refusals, but he does relent. 

Once inside the building, Henry doesn't quite know what he is looking for. He knows that Abe will refuse to see him - or that, worse, he will rage at him as he had that night last February, and beg Henry to kill him. He has heard rumours of the Great Emancipator's grief, and of the madness that plagues his sweet wife. They are only rumours, but they disturb Henry regardless. He remembers how he had raged after Edeva's death, how nothing had seemed to console him. It had been a smothering, choking rage and even after it had subsided, he had still found himself weeping for seemingly no reason at all. Then the choking feeling would return, and it would be all the more painful because he had already given up hope. 

He doesn't want to imagine the Lincolns going through that - especially Abe. 

 

 

 

**1826**

It is no secret in the vampire community that the traitor Sturges has trained a new pupil. Every few years, some poor soul will try to avenge a loved one, fail, and Sturges will scoop them up like so many prized gems. And this new boy will doubtless be the finest jewel in his collection, purely due to the fact that no one has been able to find him yet, let alone kill him. He is quick and clever, and so clearly a  _Henry_  piece of work - lovingly crafted. 

Vadoma believes that they should send somebody to kill him before things get too out of hand. But her brother Adam disagrees. He enjoys the game of it. He likes to drain the boys dry with the knowledge that Henry will weep for them, and with every death become just a little more reckless until one day...  

Adam had always been a sadistic boy, growing up. This she remembers, above everything else. He planted things on the servants to get them sacked. He tortured small animals. And when he had learnt that he was to become the father of them all, he had accepted _that_ fate without question. He saw it only as a means to further his cruel experiments. 

Vadoma can't help but wonder if this business with Henry is one of those experiments. She is nearly about to ask when Adam reaches across and plucks the decanter of blood-wine from her hand. 

"They say the boy's name is Abraham," he murmurs, pouring himself a glass, "Do you know what that means?"

"'The father of many.'"  

"Mmm." Adam smiles at her fondly. "I'm sure when I kill him the irony will be palpable. One father killing another."

"So you _are_ going to kill him?" 

"Of course. What else is there?"  

"You could turn him."

Adam blinks at her. "Turn him?"

"Henry goes through students by the sackful. He casts them off into the darkness expecting never to see them again. So why not do something worse? Why not leave this Abraham boy to serve as a reminder?"

Adam gazes at her over the rim of his glass.

"Sister, that is wicked."  She simpers at him, and he grins, all teeth. "I love it." 

 

 

 

**1863**

Adam beats him senseless. He has not fed in so long he can feel his body shutting down, dying even as it is trying to heal itself. And he had thought he was so clever...

The older vampire slams him into a wall, rattling the train car. Distantly, as if from across a great ocean, he can hear Abe and William fighting on the roof. So far they have done well, but eventually one of them is going to slip up. And Henry wants to be there when they do. 

Adam punches him flush in the mouth and sends Henry flying into the door, tongue near bitten in two. In his half-dead state, as he is being dragged up from the floor and back into the fight, all Henry can think is that the most painful part of tonight will not be his long awaited death, but Abe's words to him beforehand. 'This is not your war, Henry!' 

So it's with a bitter finality that he rises, dusty and cackling from the crate, two blessed stones clasped in his hand. 

Adam's stare is uncomprehending. 

"We have been tricked, Adam," he lisps.

There is no silver on the train.

 

 

 

**1865**

"' _Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy: mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of* -_ '"

"Do you think of...  _nothing_ but your own selfish _wants_ and _urges?"_  

Henry jumps, startled out of his reading. On the bed, Abe, who has not uttered a word in three weeks, is twisting the sheets in his hands. Henry is sure he had heard him. 

"Pardon me?" 

Abe swallows. His voice is raw from screaming. "All your life, all you do is hurt and maim... And now you want me to join you in it." He looks at Henry now, with those terrible grey eyes shining. "You're despicable."  

Henry closes the book. 

"I... I don't know what to tell you, Abe." 

"Tell me _why_." 

"Why?" Henry smoothes his hands nervously over the book's gilt inscriptions. "I'm not entirely sure. You were so young, it seemed wrong -"

"I'm a grown man, Henry." 

"You were needed," Henry replies weakly, and he knows that's not an answer. Abe knows it too. He looks at Henry with a coldness he had previously thought him incapable of. 

"If I were not tied to this bed, Henry, I would kill you." 

Henry doesn't doubt it. 

 

 

 

The next day he makes arrangements to travel south. He is obligated as a member to inform the Union of the turning, although it's not obligation that makes him saddle up his horse that evening. His words from the previous night are still rattling about inside his head.  _You were needed;_ sad _,_ petty words uttered by a sad, petty man; and the longer Henry stays in Washington the longer he is forced to face the fact that maybe when he had said 'you were needed,' what he really meant to say was 'you were _wanted_.' 

So he leaves Abe in the care of the Trinity and he slips out of the city under the cover of darkness, nearly losing his head to a couple of low hanging fir branches. His horse is a black Mustang, which he had caught a few years previously and reared himself. In the same way he had taught Abe, had has taught the Mustang to move in the dark.  

Still, he is wary. There are those who are bitter not just in the south but here in the north also, and people know his face. He partly resents Abe and his government for making him come out into the open. Up until the election he had been so careful. 

As the lights of the city fade into the darkness, he finds himself wondering what Mary Todd is doing right now. Surely she will be resting. In the top drawer of his office desk back back at the town house, he keeps any relevant newspaper clippings Abe might find interesting at some future time. There is a transcription of a letter Mary received last April that Henry found particularly touching. It reads as such: 

' _Dear Madam,_

_Though a stranger to you I cannot remain silent when so terrible a calamity has fallen upon you and your country, and I must personally express my deep and heartfelt sympathy with you under the shocking circumstances of your present dreadful misfortune._

_No one can better appreciate than I can, who am myself utterly broken-hearted by the loss of my own beloved husband, who was the light of my life, - my stay, - my all, - what your sufferings must be; and I earnestly pray that you may be supported by Him to whom alone the sorely stricken can look for comfort, in this hour of heavy_ _affliction_ **.'

  

 

 

**1835**

He receives Abe's letter when he is in unusually high spirits, picking apples in the orchard of his Missouri estate. This always seems to be happening to Henry. Whenever he finds himself at his happiest, at his most unconcerned, a sudden great tragedy will arise. Today the harbinger of that tragedy is a mailman spotted at the foot of the hill, his horse stomping angrily at the ground. Henry walks down to meet him. 

"Mornin' Mister Sturges, sir," the mailman says, and Henry can't help smiling at his provincial accent. 

"Good morning Teddy. Any letters for me?" 

"Just the one I'm afraid." Teddy produces the letter, and if it were warm Henry might have felt is blood run cold.  

"I tell you, the bloke who gave it to me were in a state. Nearly couldn't seal the envelope, his hands was shaking so much." 

Henry takes the envelope and if Teddy notices his expression he doesn't say anything. 

"You have a good day now Mister Sturges." 

"You too Teddy." 

Henry doesn't do as he usually does and wait until Teddy has left to open the letter. He rips the envelope to shreds, the mailman glancing at him nervously as he rides away. As Henry reads he comes to lean against one of his apple trees, a hand wiping nervously at his mouth. 

The letter reads as such: 

' _Dear Henry,_

_I thank you for your kindness these several years, and beg a parting favour of you. Below is the name of one who deserves it sooner. The only blessing in this life is the end of it._

_John MacNamar_

_New York_

_\- A'_  

It is signed with no embellishments, no 'yours ever's or 'kind regards' as so many of Abe's letters are, but Henry knows that it is him. And he knows what has happened.  _That poor girl..._

He does as he has told, of course. He can never refuse a student anything. He finds snivelling John MacNamar and beats him within an inch of his metaphorical life. He drags him to New Salem. He beats him again. There is only a brief interlude in which he is allowed to see Abe and to hold him while he weeps, his body pillowed softly against the mattress. Abe's hair is soft and smells of woodsmoke, and Henry tries to focus on this. But his mind will, invariably, drift back to thoughts of a man left alone on a pyre in the woods. 

"I do not wish to live without her Henry."

"I know..."

"She is too beautiful," the grieving man moans, "Too good," and Henry presses his mouth to his forehead fiercely. 

"The more precious His gift, the more anxious God for its return."

 

 

 

**1842**

The Edwards home in Springfield looks lonely from the outside. It sits apart from the other houses on the street; plain but imposing, symmetrical and block-like; its sandstone columns reminiscent of a Greek pantheon. However inside it is far from lonely. The house is home to Elizabeth and Ninian Edwards, and to Elizabeth's sister Mary. It is also, as of late, home to her husband.  ' _This house is always full of people_ ,' Abe writes to his friend Speed, ' _I can scarcely find room to sit and study._ '

Mary adapts to the duties of wifehood smoothly, asserting herself in a position that had once only belonged to her sister. She cooks and cleans and masters the servants with a hand Ninian suggests may be 'a trifle too gentle.' And she is a pretty girl. Not pretty in the way Ann Rutledge had been pretty, but more sly, more clever. You got the sense that Mary Todd sometimes uses her beauty to her advantage.  

Though tonight sly manipulation seems the last thing on Mary's mind as she opens the door. Waiting on the other side is Henry Sturges, come to throw her husband into another one of his moods. 

"Mister Sturges," she says, not displeased - not quite -, though drawing her gown around her in a way that might seem defensive. "What brings you to Springfield?"

"Business I'm afraid, Mrs Lincoln. Although I do come bearing gifts."  

He produces a pair of wonderfully wrapped boxes, seemingly from thin air. Mary stares at them. 

"Merry Christmas," he adds, and her eyes flicker upwards.

"Abe isn't here."

"I know. I thought you and I might have dinner" 

Mary nearly bursts out laughing. "It's mightily improper of a married woman to take dinner with another man, Mister Sturges." 

"Oh, I'm not one to bite, Mrs. Lincoln," Henry replies with a grin. 

She debates with herself for a moment, feeling the brush of the gifts' felt ribbons against her fingers. He is a small man, with loose dark hair and dark eyes, and with a finer countenance than her husband's. Somehow this latter detail makes him seem less attractive to Mary. 

"You can come in," she says, "but only for a moment. I was just retiring." 

Henry smiles agreeably and slides past her, the brush of his hand on her arm colder than the sheen snow dusting his coat.

Mary doesn't really remember what they talked about that night. All she remembers is the interest Henry had held in the grates barring their windows, and the way he had shook one of them when he had thought she wasn't looking. Almost as if to test it.  

He had never told her what business he had come for.

 

 

 

**1831**

Lorna Wood has been an on-and-off resident of the Poplar Bluff region for as many as one-hundred-and-sixty years. Though she was once Lucile Beauchene, and at another time Lillian Melendez, she has always been careful to stay away long enough for those who might suspect anything to either forget... or die. And now that her greedy Spanish husband has returned to Madrid believing her ship to have been wrecked at sea, she has safely set about asserting herself once again into the local community. And if a rude farmer or a slack servant wakes up one day, a little dizzy and with a splitting headache, nobody suspects anything. 

So when she is woken up in the middle of the day by a harsh banging on her front door, she rises unconcerned. Either it is an eager suitor, or an eager suitor's angry wife. She does become concerned, however, when a fellow vampire collapses at her feet, leaking blood from a wound in his leg. Lorna takes a smooth step back. The vampire groans, curses, and she thinks: _wait, I_ know _that voice_. 

"Why, if it isn't little Henry Sturges himself!"

A summary of the events preceding:  

In early February, Abraham Lincoln had written to Henry of his father's plans to move them across the border to Illinois. The letter had been filled with snide remarks and thinly veiled bitterness towards Thomas. ' _My dear sister Sarah is very prone to illness_ ,' Abe's angry scrawl had read, ' _and I fear this escapade of my father's may cause her undue stress._ '  

This is what Henry had written back: 

' _Dear Abraham,_

_I am sorry to hear of your sister's illness and that you will be leaving Pigeon Creek. However, this does not complicate matters regarding our arrangement. I will still write to you of those who deserve it sooner - the letters will simply arrive later._

_Yours ever,_

_-_ _H'_

What follows next Henry doesn't like to talk about but Lorna forces out of him. No sooner had he sent the letter on its way than he had returned to his cabin to find it being doused in oil by Confederates. These were not Adam's lackies but simply a few angry vampires who had caught wind of Henry's involvement in the death of a slave-trader back in '23. Henry had managed to dispose of them but had - rather embarrassingly - suffered a bite wound to the thigh. So he grabbed what he could and fled west, well aware that the dead vampires' friends would come searching for them. 

"You let them hurt you?" Lorna asks, taken aback. 

Henry makes a noncommittal noise and accepts the tin of sunscreen she offers him. They are sitting in the salon, Lorna spread out across the divan and Henry perched delicately on a chair beside her. Really, it should be the other way around considering his condition, but Lorna has never been one for politeness. 

"I fail to understand why you don't just kill them all," she sighs, watching him lather on the sunscreen, "If they bothered me as much as they bothered you I would be livid... Oh, but you've always been a pacifist, haven't you Henry?" 

Henry glances at her, wiping a little blood from the corner of his mouth before continuing with his ministrations. At four-hundred years old Lorna Wood is an impressive looking woman, sharp and glittering where so many of the women Henry meets are only soft. He supposes it is why he has never slept with her. She frightens him a little. 

"I take it the new boy has left you?" 

Lorna delights in the way he startles, nearly dropping the tin. His poor mouth is forming the words before it even emits a sound:  _how did you_ know _?_  

"Oh, everybody this side of Indiana knows about your little operation. Really, Henry." 

He sinks back into the chair, cowed. 

"What do they know of him?" 

"Nothing. Adam and that little bitch Vadoma only have a name: 'Abraham.'" 

She sees him swallow. 

"Ahh. So that _is_ his name. Tell me, what is he? A stableboy? A chimneysweep? You always pick the saddest characters, Henry. For once I wish you would train somebody interesting." 

"Maybe I'm tired of interesting," Henry replies, bitterly, and then, "He is a rail-splitter, if you must know."  

"And I take it you care for him just as much as you cared for the others?" 

Henry has gone quiet now. He carefully turns the tin around in his hands, picking at the label with a bloody fingernail. If Lorna had had any breath, she might have caught it.

"Oh merciful Christ, Henry, you're not in love with him are you? Tell me you're not in love with him."

"No," Henry's voice is a hoarse whisper, "No, I don't think so***."   

"Good." Lorna squints at him. "You _look_ awful, though." 

"Oh?" Henry laughs, although he looks as if he wants to be crying. "Funny, I feel fantastic." 

 

 

 

There were times during the training that Henry had thought his student might be a little more intuitive than he let on. That a few lingering touches or gazes might not have gone unnoticed. That he might have been well aware that Henry's feelings towards him weren't entirely savoury, and that - Henry prayed - he might not have  _minded._

Still, he never thinks to broach the subject. Abe is young and can't be trusted to make these kinds of decisions. Though as time goes on, the choking feeling in Henry's chest only gets worse and worse, and as the width and breadth of Abe's mind evens to his own, he begins to feel ridiculous. This is clearly going to be another one of those loves that go forever unspoken, and Henry is just fine with that.

He will at once claim that he can fill a graveyard with women he has wept over. What he will never claim is that _they_ have ever wept for _him_. 

 

 

 

**2009**

"Do you take creamer?" 

"No, I'm afraid I can't stand the stuff." 

"Ne-neither can I, I just -" Seth waves the box in the air, as if this will somehow provide an answer. Henry smiles politely. 

In the next room, the author's children are playing video-games, shouting loudly at each other. Distantly, Henry is reminded of Tad and Willie. 

"My wife," Seth blurts. 

"Pardon?" 

"My wife, she takes the creamer." 

"Ah." Henry lifts up the first page of the manuscript, then lays it down. He had been begged not to start reading until he was alone. He can tell from the way Seth is fidgeting that he is beginning to regret his words.

"Have you and your wife been married long?"

The author represses a fond smile. "A while." The coffee pot has begun to whistle, so he has to raise his voice. "How long - how long had you and Edeva been married?" 

"A month. Maybe less." 

"Oh Jesus... Jesus, Henry, that must have sucked." The words are a little trivial, perhaps, but the sincerity is definitely there.

"Thank you, Seth."

"It's just... A month... I couldn't imagine..." 

Henry shakes his head. "Oh well. The more precious His gift, the more anxious God for its return."

Seth opens his mouth, about to reply, when the youngest child potters into the room. Henry can see the brief flash of fear that crosses across his face, the quick glance between Henry, the child, and Henry again. But the child only crosses to the fridge is search of food, then returns to his brotherin the lounge room. Seth relaxes. 

"I'd... have you come up to the house, later, if it's not too much trouble. I might have some suggestions for the book." Henry says this partly because he was going to say it anyway, and partly to heighten Seth's spirits. Ever since Seth has discovered Henry's _other_ secret, he's been eager to revel in it himself. Today is no different. 

"Is Abe -"

"He's taken leave from me, I'm afraid. A little angry." 

"But you two are still -"

"Yes."

"- living together." Seth's eyes widen, his mouth stretching into a bright grin. He leans back against the kitchen counter. "Jesus Christ. What a trip." 

"Yes, our kind tend to have the same reaction." 

"It's just... I thought you said vampires didn't travel well together." 

Henry nods.  _That's fair._ "Usually we don't. But Abe and I know each other well, and he needed somebody to guide him in the beginning anyway." 

"He must get lonely." 

"I suppose so, yes." Henry's smile is a little sour. "I got him into this mess, after all. It's the least I can do to keep him company." 

 

 

 

**1865**

The following is taken from a transcription of the minutes taken by H. Manning, Secretary of Union Proceedings 1540-1942, in regard to H. Sturges turning of a one Abraham Lincoln, as deliberated by the Hon. C. Babbage, Chief of the Union 1540-2011:

' _CB: For the benefit of the board, please recount the events of May this year._

_HS: Abraham was laid to rest on the 4th. Barely two weeks prior I hunted down and killed his assassin, the vampire John Wilkes Booth._

_CB: Sources say that you tortured him._

_HS: I did, yes, for some time. Then I ripped off his head._

_LR: Your honour, if we could return to the night in question -_

_CB: Yes, quite right. Mister Sturges?_

_HS: What would you like to know?_

_CB: Your movements that night, perhaps._

_HS: Of course. I stood over Abraham's grave for most of that particular night, contemplating the many hardships we had endured together. I read the many letters the well-wishers had left for him. I thought to myself:_ so many mourners - so many people he will never get to say goodbye to... _ **  
**_

_CB: Upon which you... broached the subject at hand._

_HS: I entered the tomb, yes_.'

 

 

 

**1866**

There is a period after Abe adapts enough to stand the sunlight where he goes missing, and Henry finally understands what Shakespeare had meant about holding honour dearer than life. He finds in the mansion at St. Louis, unaware as he was that the place had been abandoned some time ago, starving and wild-eyed. 

"Oh, Abe," Henry whispers, raising his hands as if approaching a wild animal. And in a way he is. 

" _Fuck. You,_ " Abe seethes from between gritted teeth, scrabbling against the wall for purchase.

Henry takes another step closer and Abe's expression suddenly goes terrified. 

"Henry please god don't no please _don't_ ," he babbles, "I can't - I'm - I'll - don't come any closer _, Henry._ " 

 _He doesn't want to hurt me,_ Henry realises, and he has to resist the urge to laugh. Even with everything he had said that day Willie had died, and when he had wanted to kill him the year before, he had never wanted to  _hurt_ him. It all seems ridiculous. 

"Abe," Henry murmurs, "Abraham." The younger vampire tries to push himself further into the corner of what had once been Henry's kitchen, but it's useless. Henry crouches down in front of him. 

"I'll bite you - I - I - I'll  _kill you_ , Henry -" 

"No," Henry replies, taking him by the shoulders, "You won't." 

He pulls Abe to him as he's wanted to many times, but not like this - never like this. He feels Abe tense for a moment, as if he is considering attacking, then shudder and go limp. All at once, he begins to sob. 

"I don't want this, Henry." 

"I know, and I'm sorry..." 

"I _can't_ do this." 

Henry sucks in a breath, reaching up and stroking his protégé's hair. 

"It feel like that now, I know, but it will get better with time." 

"I'm  _so_ tired," Abe whispers into the fabric of his shirt.  

"I know." 

"I want to  _sleep_." 

"You will sleep." 

Abe snorts and it is a wretched sound. He is doubtless remembering his questions on the night he arrived here. 'Do you sleep in a coffin?'  _  
_

"You will do all sorts of things," Henry continues, still stroking his hair, "Many of them things you did before this. And one day you will wake up and you will not be able to remember a time when you were _not_ like this." 

"Mary," Abe chokes out, distraught again, "I - I don't  _want_ to forget." 

And Henry doesn't have an answer for that. He simply sits with Abe until the crying stops, and until the sun has set and the midnight birds start singing. 

He repeats the words he had once whispered to Edeva on the night of her death, nearly three hundred years previous, and he repeats them now with all the conviction he had had lying broken boned and bloody in that forest in Roanoke. 

He says, "Don't be afraid, love."

He says, "It will be alright." 

 

 

 

**1865**

' _CB: So you admit that you had no political motive in resurrecting the late President of the United States, and that your reasons were purely personal?_

_HS: I didn't say that._

_CB: Then explain to me, Mister Sturges, exactly how turning Abraham Lincoln benefits the Union._

_HS: It doesn't._

_LR: Objection, Your Honour - the subject is avoiding the question._

_CB: Sustained. Mister Sturges, state your reasons for turning Mister Lincoln or face examination._

_HS: ... I admit that... on the night in question... my motives were selfish. I, like many other people who knew Abraham, was grieving and not thinking clearly. I wanted him back... But upon reflection, I believe that my actions will benefit us in the future._

_CB: Elaborate._

_HS: Your Honour, the man is a demon with an axe_.'  

 

 

 

**1825**

"' _This supernatural soliciting cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, why hath it given me earnest of success, commencing in a truth? I am thane of_ _Cawdor_...****'" Henry stops reading, carefully replacing the ribbon in-between the pages of the book. 

"The boy... is he -" 

"Safe. Placed where he will be found." 

He politely avoids the boy's gaze as he studies him, his face relieved if not a little frightened. He's a sweet kid - a little more-so now that he's lucid, although admittedly he had had a sort of innocent charm about him in his slumber. Now that he's awake, Henry can see his personality taking form. He can see what he's frightened of and right now, the boy doesn't know whether to be frightened of him or of the creature on the boat. He doesn't yet know that they're the same thing. 

"My name is Henry Sturges," Henry says, with an air of breaking the silence, "This is my home." 

The kid looks at him and god, his expression is so old for one so young. 

He says, "Abraham... Lincoln." 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> * _Coriolanus_ , Act IV, Scene 5  
> ** signed ' _Your sincere friend, Queen Victoria.'_  
>  *** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLVcXphOVZo  
> **** _Macbeth_ , Act I, Scene 3


End file.
